


woes of a sireen, and other tragic tales to tell your friends in a wasteland (if you’d like)

by scroomslayer



Category: LISA (Video Games)
Genre: Animal Harm, Face Mutilation, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, POV Second Person, Suicide, Trauma, Trust Issues, cat harm, theres a bit of implied drug use but it isnt brought up much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:42:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26802334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scroomslayer/pseuds/scroomslayer
Summary: “it was all fake. it should have been. because at the end of the day, you don’t even deserve this.”(a collection of drabbles shoved 2gether in2 this 1 fic)
Kudos: 8





	woes of a sireen, and other tragic tales to tell your friends in a wasteland (if you’d like)

you peer at the scene from behind a tree. brother was teaching a few kids some karate moves a bit ago, but he just left to take a break for a few minutes, and now he’s come back, stumbling towards the children with a dazed gait. you don’t pay attention to what he says, but you make out a few words. “class” “over” “home” “kata” (???) two of the children seem to be concerned, asking him questions and such, but one is completely silent, and even a bit slumped over in woe (something you won’t admit is that you might just admire him a bit, whether you like it or not.)

so when it’s all over and everyone’s gone you get back to throwing the bottles and watching them shatter. it’s so fun seeing the disgusting empty bottles of beer smash against the trunk of that tall tree and break into a million pieces. imagining that they’re  **his** bones only makes it more fun, and then laughter rips through your throat like vomit, and you laugh and laugh until you’re screaming and coughing and your throat starts to ache. suddenly, you realize that it’s getting late, and that if you don’t get back soon,  **he’ll** find you and  **he’ll** drag you back home and beat you ‘til you feel nothing.

and then you run.

____

“hey!”

your head whips around cautiously, and you would be easier to see if your bangs were shorter, but  **he’s** always said that you have beautiful eyes, so maybe not being able to see as well is the price you have to pay to look a little less pretty. you’re looking around frantically, and thoughts scream in your head (oh god oh god who the fuck wants me now who are they why WHY WH), and then you see him. a scrawny and short boy, with traces of baby blue eyes behind his long blonde bangs. he’s wearing a red button-up adorned with yellow polka dots, khaki shorts, and worn sneakers not too different of a color than his shirt. he looks sort of like that boy from the karate class brad teaches (maybe he is, but you know better than to make assumptions).

“hey, don’t be scared,” he says. he speaks with a slight southern accent, and his voice is soft and innocent, but you still don’t trust him, just in case he’s putting up a twisted facade (like  **he’d** always do) “i saw you breaking those bottles yesterday. so uh...i cleaned up the shards of glass so you wouldn’t hurt yourself if you came back! i hope that’s okay with you.”

“get away from me!” you exclaim as you back away from him, and you end up backing into a tree, which causes you to fall to the ground, back against the trunk.

“don’t worry! don’t worry! i’m not gonna hurt you.”

“how do i know you’re not gonna hurt me?!”

“oh, uh,” he fumbles around in his pocket for something, and takes out a band-aid. “this was gonna be for me, since i tend to hurt myself really easily, heh...but you can have it! you could really use it, consider that, uh...you’ve got a bunch of scratches on your arms.”

he’s referring to the cuts  _ you _ made, but despite that, you take his offer. you don’t even know what to do with it now that it’s in your hands. maybe you just like being able to have something for once.

“thanks, i guess,” you mutter. you still don’t know whether to trust him or not. at least he doesn’t seem malicious. so far.

“yr’welcome! i, uh...probably need to get going by now! goodbye!”

he begins to run away, and you wonder if you’ll ever see him again. there’s a chance you will, at least, if  **he** gets so drunk  **he** can’t even move a muscle, and you have the freedom to roam the outdoors as you please again.

suddenly, the boy stops in his tracks, and looks over his shoulder. “by the way, what’s your name?”

you’re silent for a moment. your mind is racing again...should you tell him? or should you not? the word slips out anyway. “...lisa.”

“oh, nice. mine’s bernard. ok, goodbye for REAL this time!”

with that, he’s gone. bernard...you recognize that word. you saw it in a book about dogs, on a page about a really big dog breed, one of the largest dogs in the world. you imagine bernard as that dog...with floppy ears, and droopy eyes, and a gentle and soft demeanor, and whenever you get home from a pleasant day he barks and jumps at you and when he does he absolutely  _ towers _ over you, and when  **he** starts to hurt you he darts over to  **him** and snarls and cracks  **his** skull wide open in-between his jaws. that’s a nice thought...

if only it was real.

____

he’ll be here eventually. he has to be. he can’t just get away with what he did. with what he did to you. you overheard him stating he’d be visiting his friend’s house for a bit. you’re pretty sure you’re close to the right house. you need to be. you HAVE to be.

when you see him, you shoot him a resentful glare hidden under a twisted grin. “brad! you’re finally here!”

“...lisa?” he mumbles. he’s clearly confused, probably just took some pain pills or some shit.

“you didn’t think i wouldn’t know, did you? that you fucking ditched me??”

“l...lisa...lisa, i can explai-”

“i knew you would say that!” you begin to pace around frantically. “try to redeem yourself for leaving me behind...were the years we spent caring for each other all for nothing?!”

“wh- NO! lisa, please!”

you stop for a moment and stare daggers at him. “if you can explain yourself, EXPLAIN YOURSELF!”

brad puts a hand on his forehead. he can’t look you in the eyes. “...look, lisa...there’s another child i’m trying to provide for-”

“WHAT?! SO YOU JUST LEFT ME BEHIND FOR SOME OTHER KID?!”

“NO!” you can hear the anguish in his voice. “lisa, i didn’t leave you behind!”

“that’s what you want me to think! do you even actually care about me? or were you always lying just like  **him** ?”

he stops when you say that final word. he can’t speak, can’t move.

the corners of your mouth (which is covered in smeared lipstick  **he** put on you) curl into a crazed grin. your mind is exploding with thoughts, but you can’t think. “y...you know what? you remind me a bit more of  **him** every single day. if you shaved your head, you’d look almost exactly like  **him** , brad!”

“...lisa…” he sounds like he’s going to cry, with his voice all shaky...

“who knows? maybe you use that kid as a living sex doll, too!”

“LISA!” he grips your shoulders and pulls himself closer to you (just like  **he** does. you hate it so much). you can see his face clearly now, and you were right. he  _ is _ about to cry. “LISA, I WOULDN’T!”

“how am i supposed to believe you, YOU FUCKING LIAR?!”

you rip yourself from his grasp and start running, and you don’t stop until you know he can’t catch up to you.

____

he’s finally here.

your bones feel too heavy for your own body. your limbs tremble the longer you stand straight up. you wonder what took him so long, why he wasn’t there waiting for you instead like he always does. but y’know, you don’t even really think you wanna know. god knows what could be happening to him. he might be putting on some sort of front to hide his battle wounds just as you are (you still can’t give up the idea of him faking his cheerful personality; he seemed so  _ different _ when you first saw him in brad’s martial arts class, and besides, his overall demeanor just always felt...unnatural. of course you wouldn’t tell him that, though. what would even be the point of that?).

“ready to play?” you murmur. you sound so small, like some sort of baby animal. like...a duckling. you saw one of those back when berny took you out to the lake and offered to teach you how to swim. you declined, of course. your wet hair would’ve been a dead giveaway that you’ve been sneaking out in the dead of night. you don’t even want to imagine what  **he** would’ve done if  **he** found out.

“depends,” berny replies. “what do you wanna play?”

“...i’m...not sure.” you look off to the side. you’ve never really been good at eye contact.

you sit down underneath a tree (you’re not really sure if you could stand up much longer), and berny sits down with you. for a moment, it seems like the world’s moving a bit more than before. the wind rustles the leaves in the trees that rear up above you, and the stars shine.

you look over at berny. “...my brother teaches you karate, right?”

“what?”

“master armstrong. he’s my brother.”

“m...master armstrong’s your brother? golly, no wonder you seemed so familiar.”

“yeah, he is. his real name is brad. i don’t like him, though.”

“why?”

you can’t speak for a few seconds. “he..he ditched me.”

“oh...i’m sorry he did that to you.”

“why are you apologizing?” you cock your head in uncertainty. “you didn’t even do anything. brad should be the one apologizing.”

“because, well...you don’t deserve that. no one deserves to be abandoned. and besides, i...kind of relate.”

“what?” you ask, and then you regret even saying anything. you know better than to ask questions like that. “wait, no-”

“no, it’s fine. i’ll tell you, uh...my mom abandoned me and my family back when i was 7, and it sort of messed up my dad. he fought in a war when he was only 17, so he’s always been messed up, but uh...now he has to take care of me and my other siblings, and i know he’s trying, but he can be too rough sometimes.”

“oh…”

both you and berny are completely quiet again for a bit. the only sounds you can hear are the wind and the crickets singing their bitter love songs, and you want to say something but you know he doesn’t deserve to hear what you have to say. you let out a breath. it’s almost like nothing’s real. you hope nothing’s real. this better be some horrible, sick nightmare, and you’ll wake up with a father who cares and a brother who’s there, and goodness, a  _ mother _ . and you’ll wake up without the same goddamn dress on. and you’ll wake up to a real meal on the table, and your st bernard wants it so he’s looking at you with big, gleaming puppy dog eyes, and you throw him a piece and he gobbles it up and your brother chuckles and everything’s good and well and there’s nothing there to hurt you.

but then berny nudges your shoulder. “hey. you were spacing out there...is there something on your mind?”

you make a sound that’s reminiscent of a sigh, but it isn’t quite the same as one. “yeah, i guess.”

“...y’know, you can talk to me about anything. i won’t mind. unless it’s about you secretly hating me or something.”

you feel your throat get a bit tighter, and you think you might cry. “i...don’t have a mom either. i’ve never really had one. she died after i was born and it’s all my fault.”

“how’s it your fault?” berny’s tone is curious, but reluctant. like he knows he’s not supposed to ask. you aren’t supposed to tell him, either.

but you do. and then you tell him everything, every single thing, and when you notice how ill he looks now you’re certain that you’re the worst girl. he didn’t deserve to know, but you told him. and now you wish you never even spoke a fucking word. in fact, now you wish you were never even born a slight bit more. the world would be a whole lot better if you just weren’t there.

“oh my god...lisa…” he whimpers. “i...wish there was some way i could help you, but…”

you look at the cuts on your arm, and you get an idea.

“there is. next time we meet, bring something sharp.”

____

“did you bring it?”

berny nods. he’s holding a rusty buzzsaw. “yeah. i found it in my dad's garage.”

your heart swells up in anticipation. **he’ll** _finally_ leave you alone. for good. “good…”

“...now what?”

“use it.”

“what?”

“yeah, use it.”

“how...?”

“...cut its paw off.” you point to a cat tied to a tree. its fur is black, like the night. like your hair.

“what?” his eyes widen. “n...no. i can't do that.”

“what do you mean?” you ask. why does he seem so...hesitant? it’s just a cat. one he never even knew or bonded with.

“well...haven't we done enough?” the buzzsaw seems loose in his hands. he  _ really _ doesn’t want to do it. “it's so helpless.”

“...do you like me?” it feels wrong to use your relationship against him, but you need this so so SO fucking bad.

“of course.”

“then do it.”

he doesn’t do it. he’s silent.

“do you love me?” you tilt your head to the side a bit.

he doesn’t respond, but sort of nods in approval.

“then do it...and i'll love you back.”

he looks at the buzzsaw, and then back at the cat. he slowly walks over to it, his hands trembling. he looks like he won’t do it. but he does, and the paw quickly falls to the ground, blood trickling from where it once was.

“wow…” you gasp. you’ve never seen anything like it “is it still alive?”

“...yeah.”

you walk over to it and crouch down. you grip the stub the paw was once connected to and examine it. you can see snapped tendons and loose pieces of bone, and red flesh that glimmers with blood. the cat is still breathing, albeit it’s hard to tell. its eyes are open, but only slightly. they look like green slits on its face. now you’re sure of two things. first of all, berny really  _ would _ do anything for you, and second of all, he can injure something without killing it.

“good. that was good. i think you're ready.”

“...for what?”

you stand back up, and look at your terrified friend. “cut me.”

“what?!” he yelps. his palms snap open, and the blood-splattered buzzsaw hits the ground.

you feel one of the corners of your mouth somewhat curl into a smile. “do it.” 

“i can't,” he says, his voice trembling. he puts a hand on his forehead and shakes his head, and he’s fucking sobbing at this point. “no, please no.”

“but, i love you.” you put a hand on his shoulder as he weeps. “i need this…”

“i-i can't.”

“this way,  **he** won't want me anymore.”

he looks at you, his face wet with tears, his eyes all red and his whole body shaking.

“please...do it. i need this. only you can save me.”

he looks down at the buzzsaw at his feet, and slowly picks it up. he’s still shivering, but you know he’ll do it, because he HAS to. you NEED him to. HE CAN’T NOT DO IT.  **_YOU NEED THIS._ **

and he does it. he presses the buzzsaw against your face, the rapidly spinning blade sinking into your flesh, and he cuts you. and all you feel is pain and relief, because now,  **he** won’t want you. your once pretty little face is too ugly for  **him** to kiss now. tears swell up in your eyes as the agony overwhelms you, and you put a hand on your face once he’s done. your tears mix with your blood, and it runs down your face and drips onto the grass with the rest of your blood. you’ve never been so happy before.

“lisa...lisa, i-i-”

“no,” you croak. “no, you did so good, berny. i love you so much. you’re such a good boy...you know what, though?”

“w-what, lisa...? p...please…”

“i don’t think you deserve that name...bernard...”

“why n-not? lisa, w...why...”

“because bernard doesn’t reflect you, and besides...it’s a shitty name.”

he doesn’t respond. another tear rolls down his face. it’s like he hates himself for what he just did, so you’ll make him learn to love it.

“i know something better…” you murmur. you feel like you’re going to pass out, so you come up with something quick.

**_“buzzo.”_ **

____

it didn’t work. it didn’t fucking work.  **he** stumbled into your room, saw your mangled face, AND  **HE** DIDN’T CARE.  **AND ONCE HE WENT BACK TO HIS COUCH TO WATCH SHIT ON HIS FUCKING TV YOU LEFT AND ESCAPED TO ANOTHER WORLD IN YOUR MIND AND IT DIDN’T FUCKING WORK. HE WAS STILL THERE.** **_HE WAS EVERYWHERE._ **

it was all fake. it should have been. because at the end of the day, you don’t even deserve this. so you took the rope from last night that you used to tie that stupid fucking cat to a tree, and you climbed up that tree you and  ~~ berny ~~ buzzo used to play in.

you let out a final breath. it’s okay now. it’s all over. now  **he** can’t hurt you.

**_now no one can hurt you._ **

**Author's Note:**

> SDFGHJHDSDFGHJMHGFDG OK so uhhh ive been working on n off on this since july n it only since got finish sooooooo asdfghjklkjhgfd  
> also the scene where lisa confronts brad is inspired by something dinoburger made thats super fucking good i love it so much


End file.
